Solus Incomitatus
by KuraraOkumura
Summary: Snape stops Voldemort from killing Harry during the Battle of Hogwarts, thus compromising his position as a spy. Put under the Imperius Curse by The Dark Lord, Harry is forced into being a Death-Eater, possessed by Voldemort, and Severus realizes that his proximity to Potter allows the latter to regain control of his body. The result? Voldemort wants Severus' head. (full sum. ins.)
1. Chapter 1: Compleo

_A/N:_

_Full summary: _Severus Snape survives Nagini's bite - something about a ghost's touch being stronger than a Phoenix's tears. He stops Voldemort from killing Harry during the Battle of Hogwarts, in the process compromising his position as a spy. Put under the Imperius Curse by The Dark Lord, Harry is forced into a part-time Death-Eater life, possessed by Voldemort, and Severus realizes that his proximity to Potter allows the latter to regain control of his body.  
>The result? Voldemort wants Severus' head.<br>And if he does, then Harry will be lost forever.

_Rated M for violence, death, psychological issues, gore, mature themes in general, and future adult situations of an M/M nature._

_I have a facebook page called KuraraOkumura's Disciples. You can also go vote on the poll on my profile as to what fanfic you want me to post next; this one was the result of voting for over a few months._

_~Tenshi_

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><p>CHAPTER 1: Compleo<p>

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><p>"Avada Kedavra!"<p>

"Expelliarmus!"

Two hexes met in the center of the Great Hall - one green, the other red, each matching the colour of its target's eyes. Sparks flew as two wizards battled for control, the younger man with both his hands gripping his wand, the other, snake-like wizard holding a tense one-handed stance, teeth gritted and lips curled over gums a sickly pink. There was nothing anyone around them could do as they fought and sparks flew from where the two curses met, showering down to form a spherical transparent shield around them. Two wills fought each other down, a glowing knot of magic sliding back and forth on the thread of their respective curses as they struggled for control. Magic and power radiated from the two wizards, overwhelming, overpowering. Sparks flew still, sounds like shots of electricity continually filling the air. Hogwarts herself seemed to stop and listen to their ragged breathing, two willpowers battling each other like the final onslaught of two titans.

'None can live while the other survives...' The prophecy, uttered sixteen years ago by a woman half mad and descending from Cassiopeia herself, resounded in the minds of all the people present. Each and every one of them knew that this was to be the final battle, the final duel opposing Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. Once this was over, all of them knew that one of the two wizards would be dead. Their hopes, of course, swayed towards The Boy Who Lived, an orphan, whose only family had been taken from him forcefully and continuously for the last seventeen years. But again, none of those watching the scene had any control over the result of the duel.

The last duel, as it would be.

And then it was all over, red magic flashing back towards its owner and wand flying into the air. The snake-like wizard raised a single hand and caught the wooden artifact, a sneer plastered on his face as he savoured his triumph. Then, in only a movement, and with an echo that seemed to last an age, he snapped the wand in two.

"Harry Potter," the figure hissed victoriously, padding forward softly, the remains of the borrowed wand lying discarded on the floor behind him. "I told you I would live...and you would die." Voldemort sneered, gums uncovered still.

"You'll never win, Voldemort," came the dark haired boy's response as he stood his ground in front of the grey-skinned Wizard walking towards him. "Not as long as people still believe that there is hope. And there always will be hope, just as long as there is someone alive to spark that hope. And that will be the case, for as long you live and beyond still. You'll never win, Tom."

"Oh, but Harry, don't you understand?" Voldemort smirked, his voice laughing.

Harry froze in dread at the contempt and arrogance in that voice, sensing that Voldemort had not yet pulled his last card.

"Have I not told you of my plan for this world? There will be no one left to 'hope' when I am done with it, Harry Potter. My reign starts today, and my first victim will be you - Avada Kedavra!"

A green bolt flew ahead, Harry flinched automatically - and then the Unforgivable stopped it's course millimeters from his face, leaving him to look cross eyed at the dent that had been made in the magical shield that was now in front of him. Gasps erupted from all around them as a figure dressed in black crossed the doors to the Great Hall, wand raised and pointed at where The Boy Who Lived still stood.

And yet Voldemort remained immobile, holding a stance that looked almost bored to those looking on. His sneer had faded into an expression of thoughtful wonder, head cocked to the side in a humorous imitation of a cat. "Well, well," the snake-like creature mused. "It seems that the traitor was not whom I had believed him to be."

As the Dark Lord spoke, the figure walked forward slowly, black cape billowing around his legs and obsidian eyes fixed unwaveringly on the man he had pretended to be a spy to for years. Severus Snape's wand never faltered as he walked on, his shield still up between Voldemort and the son of the woman he had loved.

"Potter," the man hissed, black hair and large nose unmistakable. "Move away from him."

"Snape," Harry finally breathed, bewildered. "But you died! You were dead! Nagini killed you!"

"You were spying on me," Voldemort hissed, striking Snape's shield with another killing curse. "Severus, I must admit I am dubious as to how you survived my dear Nagini's bite. Care to enlighten us?"

There was a moment of expectant silence during which they all believed that Hogwarts' Potions Professor would never answer. And then, impossibly, he opened his mouth, a hint of a devious smile upon his lips. "There are few things amongst this world, my Lord, that are capable of healing wounds as deep as the one you inflicted me," Snape uttered in the silence, his deep, mock-filled voice ensnaring those listening. "A Phoenix's tears are one of them."

Voldemort hissed. "Do you mean to say that dear Dumbledore's bird has returned to save his defeated Master's spy?"

Severus Snape smirked, something that had all of them holding their breaths anew.

"No, my Lord, that is not what I meant for you to understand. Do you recall the prophecy, Tom? 'And he shall have a power that the Dark Lord does not'... Do you remember? Or have you forgotten the power of love, of forgiveness..."

"Speak, you fool!" The Dark Lord was growing angry; the tip of his wand was beginning to throw sparks against Snape's shield, eyes flashing dangerously and lips bared over rosy gums.

Snape's eyes darkened, and a single green hex flew from his wand in the Lord's direction. It was met with a shield that glowed grey, Voldemort's wand raised and poised to wait, the snake's features contorted into surprise and disbelief at having just been attacked by a man he had considered, for seventeen years, as one of his best lieutenants.

"You call me a fool," Snape hissed in fury as he took a step forward, "you," he spat, "the one who spent an entire year running after a prophecy that everyone had already heard?! You call me a fool," another step, "when you and only you, were responsible for your own downfall sixteen years ago when you attacked a defenseless toddler, a half-blood, in fear for your life?! And you call a fool," Snape took two steps forward, and then he was beside Harry, pressed against his own shield and staring into his old Master's red eyes, "you call a fool, the man who has fooled _you_ for over seventeen years?! You are the fool, Tom. You are the only fool here."

Then he pushed Harry aside, in much the same way as Dumbledore had done in the boy's fifth year after Sirius' death. Caught in a painful flashback, Harry missed the moment when curses began to fly once more, and instead of seeing his Potions Professor, saw Albus Dumbledore fighting the Dark Lord's power.

"There are few things more powerful than a Phoenix's tears, Tom. A ghost's touch is one of them."

And then everything made sense.

Snape, impossibly, just as Dumbledore had years ago, was winning. Voldemort backed down, again and again, hit by curse after curse. Snape gave him no time to breathe, and the Dark Lord could do nothing but defend himself as the hexes came and came, giving him no respite at all. Shield after shield was raised, every spell thrown silently, the air filled once more with electricity-like bolts of magic.

"You're losing, Tom," Snape hissed, never once interrupting his flow of word-less curses. "Is something the matter, or have you simply lost the bravado you possessed when facing a seventeen year old wizard?"

The mockery seemed to snap something in Voldemort, for out of nowhere he hissed at his former lieutenant and threw a invisible hex right past the black haired man. Snape whirled around with a look of horror pasted on his face, and was forced to witness the moment when Harry Potter fell under the influence of the Dark Lord's Imperius. The boy's body stilled instantly as he was hit, then relaxed completely - and fell motionless to the ground.

"No," Snape whispered, horror-struck, then turned and threw one last curse at Voldemort. But the Dark Lord whipped his wand upwards, and around him the air stilled, and the death spell slowed and slowed like a green and moving firework as it hit the limit of the man's spell, breaking apart bit by bit like a glass barreling through a window. Voldemort began falling, again in slow motion, his feet no longer holding him upright now that his spell controlled the air around him, and as he fell back and the death curse continued its course over his lowering body, speeding up as it left the field of influence of his spell, time returned to its rightful place and the air rushed back in with a startled suction sound. Just as he was about to hit the ground and his body had begun to fade away with the imminence of his Disapparation, Minerva McGonagall, on a last spur of energy and wish for revenge at all that this man had done to her castle and to her people, having stalked her way to the forefront of the amassed crowd, threw at him Harry Potter's trademark curse – a symbolic gesture to say that even without Harry Potter, the Wizarding World would fight back with everything they had – even if that was only a mere disarmament spell. The Dark Mage's wand clattered to the ground, unnoticed by most in the uproar that followed; and He disappeared.

In an instant, the entire population of the Great Hall rushed forward - but already, Severus Snape had thrust himself at the black-haired boy's body and Apparated both of them away.

Then they were in Dumbledore's Office, now deserted, the faces of all of Hogwarts' previous Headmasters looking on in bewilderment as Harry Potter fought for control over his body, eyes alternating between a snake's slitted iris and his own, fully green eyes. His body contorted painfully, and the boy shouted as Snape's desperate hands ran over his body, his face, his chest.

"I will not fail you, James."

Suddenly those feline eyes flashed open and glared dangerously at him, and Snape flinched back and picked his wand up from the ground. "Legilimens!" the man shouted as he pointed the wooden artefact directly at the inflamed lightning-bolt shaped scar.

Then he was in the boy's mind, a whirl of darkness and light flashing against each other. Severus could see clearly the boy's conscience resisting the Dark Lord's control - yet with all his determined will and terror-induced force, Harry Potter was losing. There was no resisting that hammer of darkness pounding repeatedly on his mind, squashing the boy's inherent will into nothingness. There was nothing that Potter could do. Not alone - not like this - not when he knew utterly nothing of the force that was lashing out at him. Severus could help him. WOULD help him. James Potter had expressly told him to take care of his son, to take care of Harry like he would have taken care of Lily. Severus had been forgiven - and HE had forgiven. And if not for James, then he'd do it for Lily. Her son had to live. No matter what.

And he was there, his own brilliant light joining that rapidly fading one. A storm was brewing in the young boy's mind, and there were two bright factors involved - two men willing to risk their lives, one for the other and for their world's future; and the second one for the one thing that he knew for sure needed him - the world. A seventeen year old boy joined his strength to a man old enough to be his father. Yet their battle seemed a lost one. The darkness that was The Dark Lord was gaining on them, lashing out at them like a starved wolf. Snape knew his old Lord had possibly never encountered such resistance to his control, and the Potions Master spared a brief moment to wonder if perhaps his Occlumency lessons had in fact benefited the green eyed boy more than he'd suspected.

But lessons or not, Harry Potter's strength was failing, and soon enough Severus was left to push the darkness back alone. There was nothing either of them could do as the battlefield that had been the boy's mind faded, swallowed by Voldemort's black onslaught of magic. Snape, in a last effort, took this opportunity to shield the boy's only functioning organ, the one thing that he knew had never, not once, in seventeen years, failed the boy it resided in. His heart was protected by a dome, and contrary to Severus' previously brilliant magic, this one shone dark with the rage and energy infused in it - and as a result melted right into the blanket of foreign power now covering the boy's mind. The Dark Lord never noticed that his invasive magic had missed the heart, that beating organ that he continued to underestimate, despite everything. And Snape, triumphant in his pain, sneered at the one he'd long called his Lord; Voldemort was naïve and arrogant, just as Tom Riddle had once been - and that would one day be his downfall.

X

"What spell was it?"

"I told you what it was, Ronald. Don't make me say it again. Please."

"I don't believe it. Harry's stronger than that. Even if Snape hadn't come in, I know Harry would have found a way out of it. Ow! What was that for?!"

"For being an idiot! Snape saved his life! You should be thanking him instead of insulting him!"

"Because YOU thanked him for anything?! ...See, I'm not the only one who doubts him. And, I didn't insult him."

"The understatement was clear enough. I'm not stupid, and I can recognize veiled insults when I hear them, Ron. And I don't doubt him. I just don't understand how he survived Nagini's bite. We saw him die!"

"He's a Potions Master - you'd think he'd have a cure for Serpent's venom with him!"

"No, he said something about ghosts, I don't think he used a potion. And he spoke to Harry - he was dying, Ron. We could never have gotten his memories if he hadn't really been convinced that he was dying. Don't you think he would have said something if he knew he had an antidote with him?"

"Maybe he forgot about it?"

"You know how likely that is."

"Ugh! Well, I don't care. But either way, it wasn't an Imperius. Harry's too strong for that."

And this was the moment that Harry chose to open his eyes.

Both Ron and Hermione gasped when his eyelids flew open, slightly thrown off by the fact that he wasn't even looking at them. His eyes were fixed to the ceiling, looking straight up from the hospital bed he was lying in, oblivious to his two best friends sitting right beside him, Hermione holding one of his hands tightly in hers and Ron facing her on the other side of the bed.

"Harry!" both of them explained at the same time, jumping to their feet. "Harry, how are you feeling? Poppy told us you'd wake up eventually. Snape carried you here himself three days ago - you've been asleep since then. You were - you were hit by a curse - and I - Harry?"

The boy lying motionless on the bed was absolutely expressionless. His face was blank, his features hard and cold, the corners of his lips drooping slightly in indifference. His eyes continued to stare up at the ceiling as if he had not heard a word of what his best friend had said.

"Harry?" Hermione asked hesitantly, raising a hand to touch his face. "What's wrong?"

"Miss Granger, I would ask you to step away from that bed immediately. Mr. Potter and I need to talk."

The redhead and the girl whirled around, only to meet Snape's unwavering gaze and throwing a worried glance at the boy lying under the white sheets.

"Can't it wait?" Ron had the audacity to ask.

Snape's eyes flashed briefly, and he scowled as he spat out, "No, Mr. Weasley, it cannot wait! Now get out!"

And as Hermione dragged him out by the sleeve, Ron's eyes were flashing just as much as Snape's. The brown-haired girl met Snape's gaze just as she was turning, and the look in his eyes was one that she hoped dearly never to see again. The heavy double doors slammed closed a moment later.

Snape approached the bed wearily, eyeing it with something close to tense expectation and fear. There was no sound coming from it, not even the sound of breathing. No movement either, as the black haired man approached the bed. He sat down on the chair that had been occupied by the Granger girl, careful to stay out of reach of the immobile boy. There was no saying what he might attempt. As the girl had so correctly pointed out, he had been hit by an Imperius curse. And though Snape had managed to preserve his heart, he had no idea what good that would have done. For all he knew, it had done nothing at all, and he was entirely under the Dark Lord's control. He hoped that wasn't the case.

He sat in silence for a long time, leaning back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other and holding his chin, watching the black-haired boy in deep thoughtfulness. Finally, he spoke, and he saw the way his voice caused Potter to shiver, once - violently.

"Compleo Praesentia Revelio."

That young face turned swiftly to the side, and the green eyes that so reminded Severus of Lily were slitted. Pale lips rose over teeth, and a hiss came out of Harry's mouth, the kind that a snake would utter to scare his prey away. But Snape was not a prey - and he intended to make sure that Voldemort was aware of that. This time, Tom Riddle was the prisoner, tied to the bed that had been warded against his possession unless it was stimulated, and had rendered him unable to move the body he had taken control over save for his head.

In any case, the voice that came out of Harry Potter's mouth was certainly not that of a seventeen year old teenager. Snape gripped the arms of his chair as a guttural, deep voice ripped its way out of the boy's throat. "You are a fool, Severus."

"Tu fungor quinymo appartenda qui," Snape whispered, distraught.

"Neither do you, my dear boy. Must I remind you of what you are?" Seeing those oh-so-familiar green eyes on him, Severus did not know what to answer to the accusation. The animalistic shine to them, as much as they seemed similar to Harry's and Lily's, did not belong here. He had just told as much to the monster; 'You do not belong here.' It was all he could say in such a moment, all he could think about that, no matter how much he pretended he hated Potter, the boy was too much like his mother for him to ever really want him to leave forever. Once Harry Potter was dead, there would be nothing left of Lily Evans for him to hold on to. And then, he would let himself go. Quickly, and fully.

Voldemort was right. As much as he was loath to admit it, no matter where his certainties and his loyalties lay, he bore the Dark Mark upon his arm. And that was one thing that would never go away. He did not belong here, and he knew that people like Minerva McGonagall, who had promptly hexed him out of the Castle not four days ago, would agree whole-heartedly. Though now that he had saved Harry Potter's back, he was sure she would never speak her mind aloud - or at the very least not in his presence.

"I am not the one who's name inspires fear and disgust, Tom."

"I would think twice about that statement if I were you."

And Snape knew he had lost. Not four full sentences into the conversation, and already Voldemort had pulled him down lower than dirt. He stood, helping himself up on the arms of the chair, and contemplated the immobile body lying under the white immaculate sheets. He was tempted to reach out and touch him, just to reassure himself that this wasn't a nightmare. But then he thought better of it, and with a movement of his hand the wards against the Dark Lord's possession slipped inexorably back into place, and the slits in the green eyes slowly receded and gave way to such an empty, fixed stare that he almost wished Voldemort would break those wards and make those green eyes alive again.

But Harry Potter himself, for all that he could see, was gone. Well and truly gone. All that remained was that still beating heart that he, Severus Snape, had managed to secure - but even that seemed desperately fragile as it thumped into the emptiness, the darkness that had swallowed the boy's entire being.

Once he was outside the door, Snape walked. It was all he could do, in that moment of utter despair, not to run. So he walked. Walked and walked and walked. Eventually he found himself outside the gates, into the chill of the night, his feet carrying him with a blind and determined urge towards the Forbidden Forest. Dark, unforgiving trees loomed into view as he grew closer to them, the view of their tortured and extended branches simultaneously compelling him to run and to join them. He didn't hesitate. He let his feet carry him blindly, walked right past the trees as they seemed to come alive and twist their elderly trunks to him as he brushed past them. The trees themselves seemed to resist him as he sought to violate their guard, and then silence surrounded him, bidding him an eternal greeting of death and betrayal. He had entered a place of worship, the gate inside their ranks that led to where the centaurs spoke to the skies. A sound here could mean immediate death. Humans rarely made it out of the herd's sanctuary alive. But he needed to talk to her. No matter what happened afterwards, he had to speak to her. Zelkiav was possibly the only one he could speak to as things stood now.

Soon enough he was at the edge of a lake, the moon reflected on the softly rippling surface. Snape fell to his knees on the floor, fingers burying desperately into the muddy ground. Hunched over, his straight arms supporting the weight of his upper body, he looked straight into the surface of the lake, his eyes burning into the water with the intensity of despair. "Zelkiav," he whispered, and he bent forward till his forehead was touching the surface of the water. "Come to me."

For long minutes, there was nothing. But still the black-haired man lay prostrate against the water, until his back began to ache and worms began to make their way over his dirt-blackened fingers. And still he did not move. He waited. Waited until, finally, the silence of the lake was broken by the ripples of the water.

"Severus."

The man raised his head, straightened his back, shook the worms off his hands, and sat cross-legged on the floor, the heals of his feet grazing the surface of the clear water. In front of him was a Mermaid, her skin a pale grey, green hair so dark it looked black spread out in a fan around her. Her eyes were fixed on him, a knowledge in them that made him shiver to his core. The Merpeople often reminded him of Dumbledore, the way their eyes always seemed to be passing him under some sort of X-rays. It was no wonder they had agreed to teach the old man their language.

"Zelkiav," he greeted her, bowing his head slightly. He reached out to her, palm down, and the figure swam closer to him. The tips of their fingers touched in a ceremonial greeting, and then the Mermaid spoke.

"Why have you summoned me, Severus? It has been too long since our last meet." Her voice was slow and heavily accented, her words carefully measured and weighed. Severus wondered briefly who would be teaching them their language now that Dumbledore was dead. Were they even interested in learning anymore?

"Zelkiav, I am sure you are aware of the events of the last night, and I need not explain the consequences of the Dark Lord's actions."

The creature nodded, her chin dipping briefly into the water. "I have heard from Halbian that Harry Potter has been overwhelmed. I assume that you have come to seek help from my people."

But Snape shook his head. "Only from you."

Zelkiav's eyes closed, understanding written all over her face in an expression that was close to pity. "I should have known. You understand, of course, the repercussions that such an act would entail on the boy and on yourself?"

"I am prepared to pay the price," was his quiet response.

"And the boy?"

The man hung his head, guilt inscribed in his features. "I know he would rather die than hurt any of his friends."

The Mermaid cocked her head to the side at this. "Why is it that you must feel at wrong whenever something happens that you have tried to stop from happening?"

"Because I have failed."

"But you tried," was Zelkiav's quiet answer, "and that is more than most could claim."

"But when you fail to accomplish what you have set out to do, it is as good as any failure," Snape countered bitterly.

"I cannot agree with you." She waded closer to him, catching both his wrists in her slippery hands, and turned them upwards so that his veins were clearly visible to them both. "Do you regret what you did, Severus? Do you regret attempting to save Harry Potter and betraying your position as a spy? If you were given the choice to return to the moment you stepped between the boy and the Dark Lord, would you change the way you acted the first time? And if you were forced to make a choice between attempting or standing by, doing nothing, and watching the boy die – what would you do? Would you still try even knowing that you could not win?"

Snape had raised his head as Zelkiav spoke, and now his eyes were fixed to hers, intently searching her soul for the things that she was not voicing. "You did not fail," she whispered to him. "You saved his life. He would have died if you had not intervened."

"He is as good as dead."

"Then why attempt to save him still?"

And Severus had no answer to that.

"Bring him here, Severus. But I cannot guarantee either his well being after the Purification, nor the success of the manoeuvre. I will speak to Seltach regarding the subject."

The black-haired man nodded gratefully, and said, "Thank you, Zelkiav."

And then she was gone.

Severus stood, turned, and was about to begin the walk back to the castle when a deep voice interrupted him.

"Dark times are coming, Severus."

The man froze in his spot. "Dark times have been here for a long time, Halbian," he said without turning around.

"But candles have always been lit to guide it away. Those candles have been blown out of existence."

There was a ruffle of leaves and dead twigs on his right, and then a centaur was moving forward in his peripheral vision, its dark hair and robe providing adequate camouflage in the moonlit darkness.

"Candles can still be re-lit," Severus countered, finally turning to face the apparition. "There remain people willing to hold them up."

"But today's shadows have wound its way into the light's heart. A shadow has emerged, one that no flame can quench."

"Your stars have failed your reading, Halbian. The heart is safe betwixt my hands."

"The stars cannot fail us, Severus. They are eternity itself, and they tell us of what is to be."

"Regardless, you are deeply mistaken. The Dark has not engulfed the heart."

"I mentioned no Dark, Potions Master. A shadow has tainted him. A shadow that threatens to consume its host and once again blow out the dying flames of hope.

"Not all white shields are pure, Severus Snape. Keep that in mind."

And with that, the youngest centaur of the herd of the Forbidden Forest was gone, leaving Severus reeling as to what he had meant.

What difference was there between Dark and a shadow? What was he supposed to understand in 'not all white shields are pure'? He understood that the candle was Lily's son, metaphorically so. But why had Halbian insisted that the heart of the candle had been tainted by a shadow? Severus knew that the centaurs had predicted truths from the beginnings of time. It was a known fact that the stars could in fact tell of the future, but the centaurs were not immune to either misinterpreting or misreading them - and, as Halbian had just demonstrated, their prophecies were cryptic at best, and devoid of any sense at worse.

Severus shook his head. He knew he should be giving Zelkiav and Halbian his full attention - the Mermaid and the centaur had time and time again proven that their advice was vital - but his mind was too preoccupied with riddles of its own. Riddles... He wasn't sure whether the word was appropriate anymore. In fact, it had been decades since he had last said the word aloud. He had served a man, for over twenty years - a man who went by the name of Riddle. And truly, such a name was fitting.

Now his entire life went by that word - riddle.

Severus Snape walked back to the Castle, that night, and descended to the mainly undamaged dungeons without meeting a soul.

Not that there was anyone to meet of course.

After Harry Potter's disappearance from the Great Hall, most of the students had fled back to their homes. At this point, half of the Wizarding World believed that The Boy Who Lived was dead.

And, perhaps, that was better for everyone.


	2. Chapter 2: Occisor

CHAPTER 2: Occisor

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><p>The next morning, as Snape paced in front of his fireplace as he had done all night, he reflected that the castle was quiet enough for one to forget the events of the last night.<p>

Severus had not slept, choosing instead to busy himself with his mind. He wasn't sure whether anyone even knew that he was here. Not that that wasn't what he had intended. Either way, the respite from the agony and restlessness of the last few days was breathtakingly welcome to him. Though he knew he would have to come out of his apartments at one point or another that day - if only to check on the remaining students, and primarily on Potter - for now he was enjoying the silence.

What future did Hogwarts have now? Students had died yesterday; teachers, too. He'd gotten word in the midst of the fire that Horace Slughorn had succumbed to Fenrir Greyback's attacks, and Madam Hooch was apparently on a hospital bed in St. Mungos in a deep coma. Though he'd never liked Slughorn and his more than ridiculous Slug Club, Madam Hooch's incapacitation pained him. She had been a good friend of his, a skilled dueler and an avid listener. Besides having been a Slytherin, she was a strong person, both morally and physically - one of the few Professors besides Dumbledore, in fact, that had not outright hated him. He would definitely miss their conversations and sweat-breaking duels. But, he reasoned, a coma was not a definite stop. There was always the possibility that she might come out of it. He hoped she would.

So Hogwarts was left with, at the least, two-less teachers. And Merlin only knew whether he would even be allowed to teach here again after what he had done. A single good action did not excuse a lifetime of servitude and evil, his mother would have said. Though they did all know now that he had been Dumbledore's spy in Voldemort's ranks, it did not change the fact that most of them had been living with the utter conviction that he was a traitor for years – and that, besides that, he had killed and tortured more innocents than he cared to remember. Most students - like Potter, Granger and Weasley - had been convinced ever since they had known him that he was a Death Eater and wouldn't hesitate to poison them first chance he got.

But now...now he wasn't sure what the future would be like for him.

The war was far from over. And now that he'd revealed where his loyalties lay, he knew he would have to hide - as much as he hated that idea. Voldemort would hunt him, would track him down like a prey. The man would have taken it as a personal affront for Snape to reveal that he was a spy. And, at least to him, killing the culprit was the only way his honor could be restored. If honor there had ever been.

Well, that definitely put teaching out of the way as an option for the near future. With a Dark Lord out to kill you, you couldn't possibly teach in a school as important and mediatized as Hogwarts and expect to get through the whole school year alive. And if that wasn't enough, he wouldn't only be endangering himself if he resumed his post as Potions Professor - for he was convinced that he would never again be entrusted with the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher - he would also be endangering the students and staff working with him.

Snape collapsed into the sofa nearest to him and hung his head. Hiding was his only option. But where could he possibly go? Who, on this planet, would be willing to welcome a man into their house, a man whom half of the Wizarding World's mercenaries would be after, a man with as dark and bloody a past as those who were after him, a man whose face was renown among the world for murdering Albus Dumbledore? Nobody, he resolved darkly. There was nobody in this world who would willingly let him into their house and protect him from the Dark Lord's spies and troops of murderers, and at the cost of their own lives. And either way, he couldn't leave Potter. Who knew when Voldemort would claim the boy for himself? Snape could not leave - not with the risk of losing Lily's son so close in tow. He wanted to be there when Harry Potter's body rose under the Dark Lord's impetus. If only to try and find a way to stop him.

It was with that resolution that Snape strode out of his living quarters, and headed straight in the direction of the Great Hall. Tomorrow might be the day that he would be forced into hiding, but today was the moment that told him where the rest of his focus was going - and right now it was going to all those who had died against the Dark Lord's minions.

The corridors he went through as he walked were far from the grandeur that they had previously held. The paintings and frames had been, for the most part, ripped off or damaged by stray spells or claws. Some of the walls had collapsed altogether, leaving wide openings that gave into deserted classrooms or even some on the outside. Drafts of cold wind blew in at intervals. Hogwarts was a halting ruin.

In the Great Hall, or rather what was left of it, he was surprised to see that there were very few people still present. Part of the Hall's magical ceiling had been taken down during the attack. The east wall had been partly blasted in, the house tables broken and ruined, the floor littered with debris and blood. The wooden remains had been moved out and burnt after the attack, and replaced with a single, square, heavy oak table, wide enough for about twenty people and surrounded by two benches and three unmatched chairs. The ceiling had been repaired, but the magic that had previously impregnated it was gone, and the Hall looked and felt strangely barren without the customary candles floating in the air.

Though he knew that most students had left during the night, he would have expected members of the press or of the Order to still be here. Instead, Snape found himself facing only four people; Hermione Granger and the three youngest Weasleys. The girl was asleep, her head in Granger's lap and half laying on one of the benches while the other girl sat in a chair. The tallest of the two other redheads was shaking with barely concealed sobs, his head buried in his arms and slumped forward on the second bench, his brother's hand rested on his back in an effort to comfort him. Very obviously, it wasn't working.

Snape had a brief floating moment as he remembered who the boy was and why he was crying. It struck him then that this was one of the twins who had made a dramatic escape from Hogwarts during Dolores Umbridge's period here. And that, the night before, on entering the castle after he had supposedly been 'killed' by Nagini, he had seen the exact replica of the boy – man – in front of him, pale and cold, lying with the rest of the Battle's dead.

Unexpectedly, Severus was hit with a spike of rage. Twins, separated. What kind of a world did he live in? Then he shook his head. That was no question to ask himself. He knew the world he lived in very well. It was a world where an infant could have his parents murdered before his eyes, a world where good men and women were tortured to insanity, a world where children were killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a world where teenagers just out of childhood – if at all – were required to take up arms to fight for what they believed in. A world where murder went unpunished when a killer was wealthy enough to insure his own safety. A world of pain and injustice - and one he had taken part in himself more times than he liked. For all he knew, it was he who had killed the boy's twin.

It was with this in mind that Severus walked forward, surprising the four friends out of their frozen, despairing stupor by his presence. It suddenly dawned on him that he had never approached any of them in one of their more private moments - and surely this was one of them. How bizarre must he look to them right now, striding forward to meet them, clad in his perpetual black robes, with the Great Hall completely empty apart from the five of them? And, whatsmore, when not twenty four hours before they had believed he was dead, up until the very moment when he had appeared out of thin air amidst them and saved their hero's life. If what he had done could be called 'saving'.

But then he was in front of the four young wizards, two pairs of eyes looking up at him, one of them amber and expectant and the other blue and wrathful. He didn't know what to say; comforting war victims was not the kind of criteria that Voldemort had asked of his Death Eaters.

But he had to say something. Anything. It didn't really matter. He just had to cut through the silence.

"My...condolences." After a second, he added, "Mr. Weasley."

What?! What was that even about? 'My condolences Mr. Weasley'? The boy - man, he admonished himself - had just lost his twin, his other half, and all he could find to say was 'My condolences'?!

Well, this definitely ranked high in the most pathetic moments of his life.

"Sir?" It was the girl, the one with the redhead girl's head still in her lap. She was clearly wondering what he was doing here, but when he looked into her face he was surprised with what he saw there. She was...hesitating. And though that in itself was not an uncommon expression to see when it came to her, she looked conflicted enough for him to know that she wanted to tell him something - something that she wasn't quite comfortable in saying.

"I - I wanted to thank you," she began, stuttering slightly, and his eyebrows shot up as she spoke. She was...thanking him? For what? This was one thing that had certainly never happened before!

"What for, Miss Granger?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"For what you did yesterday," she answered him, and her voice was more confident now, stronger. "For saving Harry."

Snape's eyes darkened at that. "I'm afraid your thanks are for nought."

Granger sat up in her seat, though she was careful not to rouse the sleeping girl, and the youngest of the two boys, the one looking at him with such anger, turned to look at the Potions Master.

"What do you mean, Sir?" the girl said, curiosity and confusion in her voice.

"Mr. Potter was hit by an Imperius." Ignoring the gasps this drew from the boy, he went on. "The only reason he has not already left to join the Dark Lord is that I have personally placed wards on his hospital bed, wards strong enough to rescind the Dark Lord's control over his body. But Harry Potter's will is broken. I did not save him yesterday, Miss Granger," Severus concluded in a tone that was close to a confession, "I only confined him to a life of servitude."

"You're lying." It was the youngest Weasley boy. At some point while Snape was talking, he'd stood, and now he was glaring daggers at the man, all thoughts of comforting his brother forgotten. "Harry would never let anyone do that to him."

Severus looked at the boy - for this was definitely a boy, and not a man - down his nose, fighting to contain the raging disbelief rising inside him at this stubborn refusal to see sense.

"This is not the first time I've heard you say this, Mr. Weasley. But do keep in mind that Mr. Potter, despite the prophecies and childish names that the public has dressed him up with, is nothing if not human. The Dark Lord is a powerful wizard – Harry Potter has only been learning magic for seven short years. He could not resist the-"

"But you don't understand!" the redhead exploded, throwing his hands up in the air as the girl watched him with a look that begged him to stop talking. "He wouldn't _let _that be done to him. Harry wouldn't give up. He'd never do that." Weasley challenged him with his eyes, his gaze daring him to contradict him.

Snape didn't disappoint.

"I believe _you _are the one who does not understand, Mr. Weasley. You cannot resist an Imperius curse. Whether you like it or not, you fall under the other wizard's control. There is no _choice_, no _giving up_. The moment the curse touches you, you have already been broken down." He didn't mention how he'd joined up with the boy to attempt to push Voldemort back. He'd failed, either way; mentioning it would not only have come to no end, but he would also not have been believed. And either way, Potter should never have been able to fight back, not even for a moment. Severus couldn't understand any of it, and was not about to tell them that.

"Ronald," the Granger girl interrupted what her friend was about to say, gently rousing the redheaded girl on her lap in order for her to be able to stand. The two girls got up shakily, and Granger closed in on the boy as his sister rubbed the sleep and weariness out of her eyes. "Ron," she said as she put a soothing hand on his shoulder, "Harry's under an Imperius. There's simply no way he could have resisted it. Sn- Professor Snape is saying the truth."

Again, the idiot looked about to start arguing when suddenly there was another hand on his other shoulder. "Ron, shut up. Don't let him think you're more of an idiot than what you actually are."

Weasley looked up, shocked, as his older brother, his face wiped of any evidence of tears, stared down at him and spoke the harsh words. Then the man looked up and met Snape's surprised gaze.

"I appreciate your concern, Sir. I will be sure to pass it on to my family."

And then he was gone, the echoes of his calm footsteps lingering after him and a shadow falling on his brother's shocked expression.

"George!"

And then he was alone with the Granger girl, as the two youngest Weasleys followed their brother out of the Great Hall and left her behind. Snape wasn't quite sure why she hadn't followed them; what good could she take from remaining alone with the dreaded Potions Master?

"Miss Granger," he said, "is there anything I can help you with?"

The girl took a step forward hesitantly, her eyes finding a sudden and tremendous interest in the tip of her black shoes. Her hands were clasped behind her back, attesting for her nervousness. "Professor Snape," she began shakily before he cut her off gently.

"Sir or Severus will suffice, Miss Granger. I am not your Professor anymore."

She nodded and looked up more confidently. "Sir," she tried again, because calling him by his first name felt too foreign to her tongue, "I meant what I said. Thank you." She paused, searching his eyes expectantly. "Really."

The corners of the other man's lips pulled up briefly in a sad smile as his eyebrows came together. "I can only repeat what I have already told you."

"And I can only do the same. You saved Harry. You saved all of us." She paused, and bit her lip, seeming to be stopping herself from saying something.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Yes? Is there something you wish to ask me?"

"In fact, Sir, there is," Hermione confirmed hesitantly. "Yesterday, when you were to – to Voldemort – you mentioned that a ghost's touch is one of the few things more powerful than a Phoenix's tears. Were you touched by a ghost? Is that what saved you? You were touched by James Potter's ghost where Harry summoned his parents, weren't you?"

The fact that she had figured this out so quickly went to show for her intelligence, and Snape was more than mildly surprised.

He really considered telling her everything at that moment. Confirming what she'd already figured out and putting her at peace as to where his loyalties lay. He really did. But a life spent keeping secrets and avoiding human contact got the best of him, and he did what he was used to doing. He attacked.

"Miss Granger, I'm pained to inform you that that is none of your business," he bit out sharply, "though I suppose with your never-ending curiosity you must be used by now to hearing such an answer." He ignored her pained and slightly offended look at that, – though he _did _feel a little guilty about telling her off when her enquiring had been rightful and justified – and continued, "I would thank you not to ask me – or anyone, for that matter – about things that don't concern you."

"But Sir-"

"No, Miss Granger, no 'but'. Please take your leave now, unless you find yourself in need to pose me yet another of your impertinent questions."

Snape raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, and the girl surprised him by wiping the hurt off her face and replacing it with disdain and fury. "Fine, Sir. If you truly wish for the world to remember you as the ever-loyal Death Eater which you have pretended to be all those years, then keep doing what you've always done. Now if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do than to attempt to forgive one who rejects any attempt at companionship and trust."

And then she was gone, angry footsteps echoing back to him and leaving him to waver on the spot, his eyes wide and his mind reeling.

* * *

><p>He went back to his quarters after Granger left him alone. He didn't know what else to do. He didn't want to have to face Voldemort's snide comments at the moment, and wandering aimlessly around the castle was unproductive enough to get him convinced that he was better off returning to his rooms. No matter how unproductive that also was, it was more characteristic of him. And that way, he was less likely to meet with unwanted questions. Questions which he most likely would not be able to answer.<p>

In no time at all he was back in the dungeons, his original goal to speak with Minerva regarding his near future forgotten as Hermione Granger's words swirled around in his head. She was probably right. Perhaps his loyalties were now public, but he hadn't changed his attitude to those around him. Those that now knew his true situation. It had been less than a day, and he'd already gotten on two people's bad sides, possibly more.

For the first time in many, many years, his quarters felt cold.

* * *

><p>Severus had been pacing in front of his unlit chimney when he'd heard the knocking. It had started perhaps minutes before, getting gradually louder until finally he'd snapped out of his contemplative daze. He'd walked right towards the door facing the chimney. Perhaps it was because he was too shaken up, distracted by yesterday's and today's turn of events. Or perhaps he was still mulling over Miss Granger's words, or wondering whether or not it was him that had killed Fred Weasley. Either way, he did not think to cast a spell on the door to reveal who was on the other side. He did not think to even ask who was on the other side of the wooden panel. Had he asked, he would certainly have recognised the voice.<p>

Yes, Severus Snape, for once, forgot to be careful. He forgot that his life was in danger. He was too busy thinking about someone else's safety. Too busy thinking about a certain green eyed girl with red hair. He forgot to be on his guard.

He opened the door.


End file.
